


Silent Treatment

by spaceliquid



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Altmode fucking, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Makeup Sex, PWP, Plot? What Plot?, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceliquid/pseuds/spaceliquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus expresses his frustration with Megatron in a very immature way. Megatron reacts in an equally immature way. </p><p>AU where there is truce between Autobots and Decepticons. Sticky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Treatment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primeling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeling/gifts).



> A (belated) birthday gift fic for a friend, based on her prompt.  
> I hope you like it, dear!

Truce was a hard thing to keep, especially after long millennia of war. But when it came to the Quintessons, even the oldest grudges could be... not forgotten, but at least put aside. Before the face of their ancient enemy, those whose very image was a threat of slavery, Cybertronians were ready to stand as a united front.

What helped to cement this alliance was, strangely enough, the very thing that fueled the perpetual conflict: personal relationship between Optimus and Megatron. Again, it didn't mean the pain of betrayal and mutual accusations were forgotten; but even the meekest Vehicon could notice just how well the two leaders were working together. And very soon in the bar on board the Nemesis and in the recreational zone of the Autobot base bets began to be made and heated disputes arose, all centered around one topic: _did they or didn't they?_

They did, by the way; Soundwave could testify, but nobody was brave enough to ask the silent mech, and Soundwave himself had no desire to spread gossips about his commander.

To both leaders' excuse, it happened spontaneously after a particularly impassioned strategic meeting, and both of them had enough decency to feel guilty afterwards. Optimus went to mull over his criminal actions of engaging an enemy in sexual activities, and Megatron fumed at himslef for being too "weak" and succumbing to foolish sentiments that should've been put to rest long ago.

But the very nature of their alliance led to an atmosphere of kind-of-sort-of-camaraderie, so one accident turned into two, then into three... Until Optimus and Megatron decided to just screw it all and, well... screw. But it was purely physical, of course; just some stress relief born of old attraction, nothing more (again, Soundwave could offer his own insight, but nobody asked him and, frankly speaking, the telepath knew when it was safer not to make comments).

In any case, this little illicit affair only helped to ease the tension between the leaders, thus making the truce steadier. What it couldn't ease was the sheer difference between ther tempers and ways of doing things. For instance, Megatron's ruthless and implacable nature sometimes caused him to act against the common decisions Optimus practically wrung out of him. What became the last drop was the destruction of a Quintesson ship near a human city; fortunately, the fiery rubble fell on the ground outside of the inhabited area without hurting anyone, but it was too close for Optimus's liking – especially since they _discussed_ it and agreed that human casualties should be avoided at all costs.

So they argued. And both went a bit overboard, almost turning the quarrel into a battle – _almost;_ but Megatron  charged up his fusion cannon, and when Optimus heard that familiar hum, something changed in his optics. They suddenly became dull and tired and resigned; Optimus's mouth curved in a subtle grimace of weary, disappointed revulsion. Then he simply turned his back to the cannon's glowing barrel and left. Megatron remained standing there, realization slowly dawning on him.

And that was how they came to this: Optimus standing in the Autobot base's garage in his vehicular mode, all lights off, and not responding to any attempts to talk to him. Luckily, the Quintessons were lying low for now (their last defeat turned out to be devastating), but Ratchet was grumbling that maybe it would be better if they attacked – at least that would make Optimus switch to his root mode and stop his self-imposed exile. Megatron's (quite rude) attempts to talk to him were met with the same angry silence.

It took two days for Ratchet's patience to come to an end.

"Alright, listen here, you stubborn glitch!" he snapped, cornering Megatron in the corridor. "You will go and apologize to Optimus right now, or the next time you're injured I'll rewire your neural net so that you hit your dumb head every time you try to lift an arm. Don't even come back without Optimus!"

Megatron was amused by the (comparatively) tiny doctor shouting at him, but postponed the whole Optimus business for one more day – just for it not to look like he obeyed the Autobot medic's order. But all things considered, he really needed to get Optimus back to normal. And so he chose a time when nobody could disturb them and ventured into the garage. 

The blue and red truck was right where Megatron saw it last time; in this form Optimus didn't spend any energon, so he didn't even need to refuel, and three days of staying motionless wasn't hard for long-living species like Cybertronians; still, he must've been pretty bored by now, and Megatron was more than happy to entertain the Prime.

But he made sure to try talking first; just to be able to claim that he really ran out of options.

“It has been three solar cycles. Aren't you done huffing?”

No reaction.

“Your Autobots worry for you.”

Nothing.

“The human girl even suggested to organize a rock concert in the garage to cheer you up.”

Okay, this nearly made the Prime move, but only nearly.

“Maybe I should let her.”

Unfortunately, Optimus seemed to have composed himself, since he didn't react to this threat.

“Being difficult, huh?” Megatron shrugged demonstratively. “Looks like you aren't listening. It's kinda dull talking to you like that; might as well relax and enjoy myself, since you're obviously not protesting.”

With that said, he stepped closer to the truck, circling it like a predacon would circle a prey. A claw came to trace one of the smokestacks, emitting a funny drumming sound as it slid over the perforated surface. Optimus didn't even twitch, but Megatron didn't expect him to, at least not this early. The Prime had quite a self-control; it was time to test it.

He stopped behind the truck, taking a good look at the cab's backside. Megatron missed Optimus's Cybertronian form, this Earth one being too crude, boxy and full of unnecessary stuff (like those seats under the windshield; who in their right mind would allow disgusting fleshy aliens to crawl inside their body like some parasites?). But it was still Optimus, and he somehow made anything look elegant and dignified.

Smirking, Megatron sat down on Prime's transformed legs that made up the truck's chassis, stretching his own legs and putting his elbow on the cab in a casual manner. For a klik nothing happened, and Megatron poked a tire with his claw (carefully enough not to puncture it).

“What, not even going to roll out and throw me off?” He snickered. “My, my, Optimus, you are being uncharacteristically compliant today. I believe I shouldn't waste my chance.”

The claw dipped inside the rim of the wheel, into the gaps, tracing and teasing them. Now this caused a reaction: a small outburst of the previously compressed EM field licked Megatron's own, but quickly retreated, almost comically shy. Oh, did the great Optimus Prime loose his cool so easily? How shameful.

Megatron gave the wheel one last brief caress and put his hand away, studying Optimus's reactions. The truck remained silent and motionless, but the EM field emanated something... Warm waves of repressed anger, mixed with rich undertones of impatience that grew the longer Megatron remained idle.

The warlord kept the pause for a little while, but finally took pity on his rival and put his palm on the truck's chassis, stroking it firmly. He fondled and groped and felt Optimus up, the touches unsubtly obscene, letting his delight sweep over Optimus, letting him know just how much Megatron enjoyed having his enemy so (willingly) helpless, all laid out before him and ripe for the taking. And the Prime really had very nice legs, even when they were transformed and drawn together tightly. This was fine for now; Megatron will have Optimus spread those silvery thighs soon enough.

Optimus's frame began warming up, and the Decepticon thought he heard the click of the cooling fans being shut down manually. He considered his options; as much as teasing Optimus seemed alluring, Megatron was growing impatient himself. And, while he could wait well enough when the situation called for it, right now he wasn't in the mood. Smirking internally, he moved his hand further, trailing the clawtips along the cleft where the cab joined with the chassis, and then pushed his digits in between.

This time Optimus jolted, his frame creaking under Megatron, but quickly returned to his stillness. Chuckling softly, Megatron wiggled his fingers, testing the freedom of movement, and dug deeper, searching for the hidden interface array. He wasn't one of those perverted altmode fetishists, but he was familiar with Optimus's body intimately enough to know where to look for – aaaand here it was: the panel was already heated and covered in condensation. Megatron briefly wondered what would human engineers think about that particular detail if they ever got their hands under Optimus's hood, but the thought was too repulsive, and Megatron quickly shook it off.

The altmode's configuration limited the movements, and the warlord silently congratulated himself with the brilliant idea to modify his fingers into warbuild's talons: this allowed him to reach places where thick blunt digits wouldn't fit. The clawtip scraped against the interface panel, sending a suppressed shudder through the Prime, and delved into a seam, playing with sensitive wiring there.

A soft puff sounded right beside Megatron's face, and the smokestack let out a torrent of steam. Optimus's field immediately flared in embarrassment, and Megatron raised his eyebrows, deeply amused. The Prime still resisted, committed to keeping his silence, stubborn as always, but oh, Megatron was proud to be the one to rival Optimus's resolve with his own. This was a challenge too, just in a different field.

Megatron angled his arm to get a better access to the interface panel, keeping his caresses slow and light, and meanwhile shifted, changing his pose to rest most of his weight on Optimus's cab. He pressed his hand to the scorching hot metal, made sure that they touched as much as it was possible – and then revved his powerful flight engine to the maximum.

Vibrations coursed through both of their frames, making the armored plates rattle. Optimus let out a sharp sound resembling a muffled gasp; his cooling fans roared to life, breaking all attempts to override them, - and the interface panel snapped open.

Megatron hurried to claim his prize before Optimus could get a hold of himself again; his fingers plunged deep into the quivering valve, hot and basically sopping with lubricants. The calipers constricted around the invading digits, and Megatron drew them together firmly, hiding the sharp cutting edges and watching the angle. Fingering someone with warbuild talons was a dangerous task that required care and precision, but vorns and vorns of practice (mostly with his own valve) turned Megatron into a master. He could easily hurt his partner and tear the delicate equipment apart, and his berthmates knew it, which made this game particularly thrilling.

Optimus obviously knew it too, because he tensed and stood completely still – even stiller than he was before. Only the heavy huffs coming out of his smokestacks showed just how aroused he was. Air was wavering over them from the heat, but otherwise the Prime continued to boast his remarkable self-control.

“My, my, Optimus,” Megatron spread his fingers a bit and chuckled at the lewd squelch of lubricant. Optimus's plating just rattled more from shame. “Look how wet you are. Are you sure you want to stay in vehicular mode? It must be pretty uncomfortable.”

Megatron drew his fingers out – not completely out, he didn't want to leave Optimus empty – and then thrust them back inside, as roughly as the talons would allow. They slid in smoothly, the tight confines of Optimus's valve so slick there was barely any friction, and Megatron felt the lubricant drip from his palm.

“You're going to leave a puddle on the floor, you know; I wonder what your human friends would think about it.” Megatron grinned at the flutters of Optimus's EM field and proceeded to fuck him in short, shallow thrusts, unable to push his hand deeper. But this played to his advantage: it was enough to make Optimus shiver and vent hard, but _not_ enough to give him full satisfaction.

“Maybe I should leave you here like that,” the Decepticon added cheerfully, thrumming his free hand's talons on one of the smokestacks. “You do want to be left alone, after all. What do you say, Optimus?” He paused his ministrations and laughed when he felt the valve's walls clamp down on his fingers, as if trying to keep them there. “No? Seriously, Optimus, you need to articulate what you want, I am not a telepath like Soundwave. I wouldn't want to do anything that will... displease you.”

That valve cycled around his fingers again, begging silently, but Megatron was in no hurry, although his own interface panel had been uncomfortably tight for a while. And finally his patience bore fruit: Optimus let out a low groan and surrendered.

Megatron pulled his hand back and moved away as the Prime transformed into his root mode, positioned on all fours and panting heavily. There _was_ a puddle under him, and now – at last – Megatron had a good view of his valve, moist and glistening and rippling desperately.

“Now that's much better,” he muttered, watching the biolights blink and pulse.

Optimus fell on his elbows, his whole form trembling and aft raised like an offering.

“B-bastard...” he wheezed out. “You got what you wanted. Come on now...”

The first words Megatron heard from Optimus in three days – and it was a demand to frag him. How exquisite. But not nice enough.

“This doesn't sound like you look forward to it – more like a resignation. I'm not going to do anything that you will simply tolerate.” Megatron made his voice regretful. “Do you really want this?”

Optimus's fingers curled in frustration.

“Primus damn you,” he whispered, thighs trembling. “Yes! Yes, I want your spike in my valve, if that's what you need to hear. Finish it already! Please,” he added quietly, at least attempting to sound meeker.

Megatron decided that it was good enough for the moment.

“Well, since you asked so kindly...” he retracted his own interface panel, letting his spike pressurize at last, and grabbed the Prime's shapely hips that fit so well in his palms. “However...” In one swift motion he flipped the non-expecting Prime over and pushed his legs upwards, nearly bending him in half. Optimus managed a surprised yelp – only for it to turn into a broken sob when he was entered, the soaking emptiness inside him finally filled.

And he proceeded to groan and cry as he was deeply, masterfully fucked, Megatron keeping a steady pace that was meant to teeter on the edge between teasing and good hard pounding. He didn't want Optimus to tumble into overload too fast, no, he wanted to savor it, to see the Prime come undone underneath him and give in completely. Optimus was already close to it, thrashing around as much as his position allowed him, field crackling with charge and plating bristled to let out the heat that his shrieking cooling fans couldn't dissolve anymore.

“How nice... to hear your voice again,” Megatron growled, barely controlling his own vocalizer. “Your silence... is a waste. This is what it's made for... To moan and plead me to... frag you into the floor.”

“I did not – aaaah! - did not plead you,” Optimus gritted his dental plates, optics glowing defiantly, a challenge to him, ever a challenge, oh how Megatron loved it! Instead of answering he let out a low rumble of his engine, pushing his entire weight down, forcing Optimus's legs wider apart, and quickened his thrusts. This time Optimus outright screamed and clutched at Megatron's shoulder spikes, bending the metal in the throes of his impending overload – until it hit him, making his back struts arch and mouth fall open in wordless, static-filled binary shriek. Megatron needed only several more pushes to follow the Prime, biting his lips and crushing Optimus into the floor.

It took a couple of kliks for their heads to clear and their optics to focus again. The air in the garage was hot and smelled of ozone, making it painfully obvious to any Cybertronian who might enter what had just happened here.

“Sometimes you make it really hard for me to refrain from hitting you,” Optimus said, eyebrows drawn close.

“Aw come on,” Megatron grinned, propping himself on his elbows. “That silent treatment was getting annoying too fast. It's about time you stopped moping.”

Optimus sighed, mouth twitching in exasperation.

“If you believe you can solve all problems with a round of interfacing, you think insultingly low of me. It's not over until you say that you're sorry for blasting that ship so close to a human city.”

“I'm not sorry for that.”

Optimus cringed, the mess between his legs suddenly ceasing to feel nice and snug, the liquids becoming disgustingly cold and sticky. But right when he was going to squirm out of the unwelcome embrace, Megatron continued:

“I _am_ sorry for breaking our agreement, though.”

Optimus froze.

“What..?”

Megatron was looking down at him, face serious.

“An alliance can only work if there is trust in mutual decisions, and I compromised this trust by acting against something we agreed on. For this, I am sorry.”

Optimus blinked, then blinked again. He couldn't believe what he was hearing: it was not a scornful snort, not an indefinite shrug or a dismissal – it was an actual, straightforward apology.

Sure, Megatron wasn't quite apologizing for what Optimus believed he should, but, to be frank, Optimus haven't even thought Megatron _could_ apologize. And a honest admission was infinitely better than any amount of empty words meant to simply appease Optimus and shut him up.

A warm smile bloomed on the Prime's lips, and he raised his hands to cup Megatron's helm.

“I'm glad to hear that,” Optimus said softly, EM field expanding. “I just hope you will be more attentive next time.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

At this moment the heavy metal door to the garage swung opened with a clang, and agent Fowler's voice echoed in the room:

“Optimus, have you – JESUS CHRIST!!!” There was a stumble and a crash.

Megatron winced.

“How can such a small creature be so obnoxiously loud?”

“It can be understood; he had just walked in on us.” Optimus wriggled a little, but made no attempt to stand up – or to unwrap his legs from Megatron's frame, for that matter.

In fact, he was quite comfortable like this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, the Quintessons, my favorite plot device! Always there for you when you need to make the characters fuck.


End file.
